


A New England

by Luka



Series: Firestorm [1]
Category: Primeval
Genre: Established Relationship, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-30
Updated: 2019-05-30
Packaged: 2020-03-30 00:32:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,812
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19031113
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Luka/pseuds/Luka
Summary: Ryan and Stephen have to try to come to terms with Ryan's injuries and the drastic changes to their lives.





	A New England

**Author's Note:**

> The first story in the Firestorm series – the action takes place over the course of about three months after the Iceman sequence. You may want to read those stories first to make sense of this one! In case you're not familiar with Primeval original characters, most of them are soldiers and their partners. Thanks to Fredbassett for the loan of Lyle and Ditzy. The rest are my invention.

Ryan eased himself out of bed, used now to the pain that accompanied even the slightest movement. The physio claimed he was doing well. Maybe he was by normal standards, bur Ryan was used to far more than that.

Stephen sat up immediately, his hair sticking out at all angles. "Are you OK?"

"I'm fine. Just need a piss. And you can stay in bed a bit longer. I don't have to be at the hospital until 11am today. And don't forget Jon's going to pick me up after and bring me home."

"It's OK. I’ll have a shower in a minute then look through some of those reports Lester sent."

Stephen looked permanently exhausted. Neither of them were sleeping well – they both had nightmares – and Stephen was doing all the fetching and carrying. He delivered and collected Ryan to and from all his hospital appointments. And Lester was keeping him busy with reams of paperwork either being delivered by a taciturn bloke in a suit, or coming via email. 

"You look knackered …" Ryan stroked Stephen's hair.

"I'm fine. I'll have a nap while that physio is improving your 100 metres times!"

"Bloody woman's more interested in relocating my left arm to my right shoulder. Look, Stephen, we could try separate beds for a while, see if that gets you some sleep."

"No!" Stephen looked horrified. "Well, unless that's what you want …"

Ryan couldn't lie. Having Stephen next to him in bed was the only thing that made the whole bloody nightmare even vaguely bearable. They couldn't lie with their arms around each other any more as it was too painful for Ryan, so they entwined their hands instead. "No, I don't. But I'm worried that you're not getting any sleep."

"I'm fine, honestly. And I can't bear the thought of sleeping apart from you."

Ryan kissed his forehead. "Neither can I. But if you ever need to, go ahead, and I won’t be offended."

~*~*~*

Lyle was chatting up a pretty young receptionist when Ryan emerged from his hour of torture with the physio.

"Does Lester know you're looking at the other side again?"

Lyle casually flicked him a V sign. "Just because I look at the merchandise it doesn't mean I want to sample it. And do you know you're a very fetching shade of green?"

"So would you be if you'd had that sodding sadist tying you in knots." He sat down abruptly. He wouldn't throw up. Not in front of Lyle. Not in public.

"Take it easy, mate. It's OK …" Lyle sat down beside him, a comforting presence.

"Yeah. Sorry."

"Bollocks. You take your time. You can try for the marathon next week."

Eventually Ryan's head stopped spinning and the nausea receded somewhat, and he made it out to the car without Lyle carrying out his threat and going in search of a wheelchair.

"Fucking macho idiot," said Lyle, starting the car and pulling out onto the main road.

"Takes one to know one …"

"Yeah, whatever . . ."

"Hey, you're going the wrong way."

"We're going back to mine. I can feed and water you, and you can crash out for as long as you need to. And it'll give Stephen a chance to have a rest. He looks like shit."

"Yeah, I know …" Ryan lapsed into silence.

Lyle had bought a rather anodyne house which was remarkable only for the blandness of the décor and for the amount of caving gear piled around the place. Ryan collapsed gratefully onto the sofa, closing his eyes and cursing the fact he'd left the painkillers in his jacket pocket.

"You need these now." Lyle was holding out a glass of water and the tablets.

Ryan nodded and swallowed two of them.

"Fuck, you are in a bad way …"

"How d'you mean?"

"You didn't argue. Now, I've got soup and sandwiches. You can have both or either. And don't give me the not being hungry crap. If you don't eat something, you haven't got a cat in hell's fucking chance of regaining your fitness."

"Like I've got a fucking chance of doing that anyway."

Lyle sat down beside him, his stare disconcerting. "Four months ago you were left for dead, your heart stopped twice in the ambulance on the way to hospital and you were resuscitated twice in the operating theatre. I'd say the fact you're up and walking is a fucking miracle."

"Jon, you know what we discussed in Bosnia …"

"No. No fucking way."

"You promised."

"And I'm breaking that promise. You're not paralysed. You've got a partner who loves you. You've got plenty to live for. And I'd never have had you down as a coward."

"Fuck you!" Ryan tried to stand up, but his head was spinning too much and Lyle caught him as he fell back.

"Yeah, whatever. Now. I'm bringing you tomato soup and a cheese and pickle sandwich. If you don't eat at least half, I'm shoving it down your stupid throat myself."

~*~*~*

Ryan fell asleep after lunch, having managed a bowl of soup and half the sandwich. When he woke up again, it was getting dark outside, and Lyle had turned a lamp on.

"Shit, what time is it?"

"Half past four," said Lyle, wandering out of the kitchen with a mug of tea in his hand.

"Stephen …"

"Knows where you are. The kid needs a rest, so you're not going anywhere for at least an hour."

Ryan subsided, too exhausted to argue. And Lyle was right. Stephen did need some time to himself.

"Preston's pissed off with you, mate." Lyle handed Ryan a mug of tea.

"What have I done this time?"

"Nothing, which is the point. I hear you've stood the shrink up once too often."

"Stupid cow was wasting my fucking time. I couldn’t seem to make her understand that serious injury comes with the territory and I just need to get on with it. And I bet it was fucking Ditzy who dobbed me in to Preston …"

"Probably. Serves you right, though. This is the one fucking time where you do need to talk to someone."

"Bollocks! What is there to say? I was nearly gored to death by some freaky mutant from the future and I'll have to leave the army …"

"You don't know that for certain …'

"Of course I fucking do! I'll never be up to active duty fitness again. And anyway, everything's being sorted out."

"The fitness centre?"

"Yep. It's just happened a bit earlier than I planned."

"Does Stephen know?"

"Of course he does. He's coming with me."

"He's leaving the university?"

"Resigned already. I thought Lester would have told you."

"No. Shit, Ryan, is this a good idea? That's his career down the pan."

Ryan shrugged and lapsed into silence until Lyle, muttering what a miserable and stubborn fucker he was, took him home.

~*~*~*

Ryan wanted to cry. There was Stephen, naked, gorgeous and all his, and he couldn't get a hard-on. They hadn't had penetrative sex since Ryan was injured.

"Stephen, oh fuck, this is crazy … Look, we can't go on like this. If you want to go off and have some no-strings attached fucks, that's OK by me."

"No! Tom, what the hell are you saying?" Stephen's eyes were wide and horrified.

"I can't give you a decent sex life any more. Go and have fun with someone else. There are loads of clubs in Birmingham or Cardiff. Just so long as it's safe sex …"

"You really think I'm going to do that?" Stephen's voice was horribly quiet.

Ryan shrugged, looking away, trying not to picture Stephen face down being fucked senseless by a queue of anonymous men.

"Is that what you'd do if the positions were reversed?"

"Of course not!"

"Tom, this relationship's about a hell of a lot more than sex."

Ryan shrugged again. He should have known that Stephen, with his fierce sense of loyalty, would react like this. And now Stephen was trapped in this no longer equal partnership, one that had saddled him with a badly disabled partner, and which threatened to drain him of all his hopes and energy. And he'd wrecked his academic career for Ryan. 

"Whatever you're thinking, please say it …" 

And Ryan did, his eyes never leaving Stephen's face, hoping that his still-hoarse voice wouldn't betray him. And he hated himself for causing the pain in Stephen's expressive eyes.

"Tom, listen to me. You gave me plenty of opportunities to duck out. How can I make you believe that I'll never do that, that I love you and made a commitment to you and that the only thing that will separate us is …" His voice trailed off.

"Death? If I'd have died, you wouldn't be saddled with a useless cripple."

"Stop it! You're going to get your health and strength back. Look how far you've come already …"

Ryan shrugged helplessly, not trusting himself to speak. 

Stephen cradled him in his arms, kissing and stroking his hair. His voice was soft and slightly unsteady. "You're all I've ever wanted. And that's never going to change. I will never ever leave you."

~*~*~*

"How's he doing?" Claire dumped a mug of coffee and huge chunk of chocolate cake in front of him. He was about to say he wasn't hungry, but the look in her eyes warned him she wouldn't stand for that. So he nibbled the cake, letting the delicious icing melt on his tongue. He couldn't remember the last time he'd really fancied a meal. Sadie and the SF wives had kept them stocked with food, but Ryan had little appetite and his wasn't much better. The freezer was full to overflowing.

"OK. Some good days …"

"And some crap?"

"Yeah." He didn't want to say that there were more of the latter than the former at the moment.

"How are you coping?"

"I'm …" He was saved by the doorbell. Claire returned a minute or so later with Lizzie Preston in tow. Stephen had been briefly introduced to her at the civil partnership, but hadn't met her properly. So he was astounded when she engulfed him in a hug. She was nearly as tall as him – and was wearing flat shoes.

"Stephen! Are you all right, darling?" Her accent was cut-glass Cheltenham Ladies College, totally different from her husband's broad Yorkshire.

"I'm fine, Mrs Preston, thank you."

"Oh, call me Lizzie! Everyone else does. Thank you, darling, that cake looks divine." She accepted a fork and dug into the cake with enthusiasm. Claire winked at Stephen and set a mug of coffee down in front of the Major's wife.

"I was just asking Stephen how he's coping with everything."

"I'm fine, really …"

"You don't look it, darling. Have you seen the doctor?" Lizzie paused, fork in mid-air.

"I don't need to …"

"If you're not sleeping, and I can see you're not, you need advice on how to manage that for the time being. And there's a lot going on in your life all of a sudden. It’s no weakness to ask for help. You need to be in tip-top form to make sure the Captain gets all the help and support he needs. We've all been there to some extent. I was all over the place when Graham was wounded in the Gulf."

Stephen nodded weakly, trying not to look at Claire, who was obviously used to Lizzie's forthright manner. And he was saved for a second time when the doorbell went again.

"That'll be Cara," said Claire. "Stephen, will you stick the kettle on again and we'll have a fresh pot of coffee."

Cara bounced in and hugged Stephen, her head somewhere around the middle of his chest. "How are you?"

"I'm OK, thanks."

"I don't believe you. But I’ll let you off for the time being, as I've got the photos from the big day!"

There were squeals of excitement from Lizzie and Claire, and they decamped into the living room so Cara could spread the album out on the dining table. And Stephen bit his lip, desperate not to cry, as the photos were absolutely perfect and seemed to capture every moment of that unforgettable day.

"Stephen, you look so handsome." 

"Dunno about that. But you were the one who took me shopping …"

"True." Claire allowed herself a smug smile, and they all laughed when Cara mimed her head swelling. "And Abby looks gorgeous. Has she been over?"

"No, but she texts or emails every day."

"Still can't get over Jon Lyle and his civil servant bloke. I assume the hand grenades were his idea."

"Bound to have been."

"Those damn hand grenades! Silly load of buggers," said Lizzie fondly. "Serve the blighters right if they'd blown their blasted hands off!"

~*~*~*

"How's it hanging?" asked Ditzy, helping himself to a handful of biscuits. He'd turned up mid-morning just as Ryan had returned from his walk to the bottom of the road and back – which he could now manage without sticks.

"Somewhere to the left," said Ryan, taking a mouthful of coffee and grimacing. He should have made it himself. Ditzy's coffee was the worst in the western world.

"You're looking less scabby."

"Not difficult." But Ryan hated the network of scars across his face and body which looked like Spaghetti fucking Junction. He couldn't understand how Stephen could bear to look at them, never mind kiss them.

"So what does the quack say?"

"About what?"

"When you're coming back."

"He doesn't and I'm not."

"Hey, hang on, boss!"

"Ditzy, it's over. They can tart up all these scars, but I'm not going to walk properly again."

"Shit. I'm sorry, boss."

"Yeah. At least I'm getting out more or less in one piece."

"Do the others know?"

"Nope. Lyle got arsy when I mentioned it to him. I reckon Preston's guessed, though."

"Bound to have done. And you owe me an apology, incidentally."

"How come?"

"Wasn't me who shopped you to Preston about the shrink. Although I would have done if I'd known. You're a stupid fucker sometimes, boss."

"It was a waste of everyone's time. I just need to get on with the rest of my life."

"So I suppose you never got around to talking through what happened in Bosnia?"

"Nope. No point. It's long gone."

"Bollocks. It's always going to be there until you talk to someone about it."

"Ain't going to happen, Ditzy, so drop the fucking subject. Now."

Ditzy seemed about to argue, but shrugged and said: "So what you going to do?"

"D'you remember Jed Collins?"

"Bristolian head-the-ball in Mick Page's unit? Vaguely."

"He's selling his fitness centre because he's moving to Oz. He wants me to buy it off him."

"D'you want to?"

"Yeah. It's what I've always intended to do once I leave. It's just a bit earlier than I bargained on. And there's not much else I can do, is there? The jobs pages don't tend to advertise for trained killers."

"Where is it?"

"Bristol."

Ditzy just looked at him.

"What?" said Ryan irritably.

"You'd move away from here?"

Ryan shrugged. 

"Difficult moving to somewhere you don't know anyone and in effect starting again."

"It's hardly the end of the universe."

"Oh, I dunno. Lot of slopey foreheads there, and they don't half talk funny."

Ryan shrugged again. He knew moving from Hereford was going to be a wrench, but he couldn't see an alternative. If he stayed, he'd be presented with what he'd lost every day of the week. And the relationship with the lads would be different. Oh, they'd still see each other, but it wouldn't be the same. A clean break would be best for all concerned.

"What does Stephen reckon?"

"He's all for it. He's going to run the centre with me."

"What? What about his teaching and research? I thought he'd go back once you were on your feet again."

"He resigned from the university while I was in hospital."

"Fuck, I didn't know that …"

"Neither did I until quite recently. Lester's got him working from home on the anomaly project, but he wants to pack that in as well as soon as we sort out the new venture."

"Don't blame him. Whole fucking thing's going to hell in a fucking handbasket."

"Yeah?"

"Yep. My money's on Cutter cracking up sooner rather than later. He doesn't seem to know what day of the fucking week it is. I know the guy's got a brain the size of a planet, but it rather confirms what we've always said, that Stephen was the switched-on one in that partnership. Speaking of which, you know Cutter keeps asking me how he is?"

"Yeah, well, that's because Stephen won't answer his phone calls or emails."

"Ah."

"Yeah."

"He blames him for leaving you to die?"

Ryan nodded. "I've told Stephen any number of times that there's no fucking way Cutter could have done anything." 

"Considering it took me all my time to find a pulse, Cutter had no chance."

"I know, but Stephen doesn't want to hear that."

"Give him time. He's gone through a lot the past few months …"

"I know."

~*~*~*

Stephen unlocked the front door and dumped his rucksack at the bottom of the stairs. Shit, what a crap day. The train had been half an hour late getting him up to London, then Lester had been called away to an urgent conference call with the PM and his advisors, and had insisted Stephen waited. And he'd only just avoided Nick, who seemed to be up at the Home Office for some meeting. Then of course the train home was delayed by a signalling problem.

Ryan was stretched out on the sofa, fast asleep, clinging on to the album of photos from Cara. Stephen crept through to the kitchen to make a cup of tea, but Ryan sat up suddenly.

"Hey, you OK?" Stephen kissed the top of Ryan's head.

"Yeah, I'm fine. I made it to the shop and back."

"Nice one! Hope you bought something decent for tea."

Ryan grinned. "Already in hand. Sadie was so impressed to see me out and about that she's cooking us a shepherd's pie tonight."

"With mustard mash on top?"

"If you’re good."

"I'm always good."

"Allegedly."

"What were you looking for in the album?"

Ryan shrugged. "Nothing in particular. I just wanted to remind myself what an amazing day it was."

Stephen nodded and sat down next to him. Ryan was looking much better all of a sudden, as if he'd started to come to terms with his situation. His voice was almost back to normal, although quieter than it had been. And his mobility was improving almost daily. For the first time Stephen felt a burst of confidence that his lover really would recover.

Ryan opened the album and ran his finger over the photo of Stephen on the front page. "You looked good enough to eat."

"That'd have caused a stir … And anyway, I had to make an effort considering you were decked out in your best."

"Shame you got hitched to the hunchback of Notre Dame's brother, then."

"Bet your bell-ringing's crap."

They turned the pages. Cara had managed to get photos of all the guests. She'd snapped Dr Patel and his wife Rehana, who was wearing a gorgeous turquoise sari, talking to Ditzy and Claire. Connor, looking almost neat for once, was waving his arms around and explaining something to Abby, who had a glazed look on her face. Claire and a group of the SF wives, including Lizzie Preston decked out in a floral summer dress, were dancing and laughing. And Cara had even captured the stunt with the hand grenades for posterity.

"Cara did an amazing job with these," said Ryan.

"Yeah, I hope she makes a living out of photography. She's very talented."

Towards the end there were some general shots of the tithe barn and its grounds, including the pond which had been a source of great fascination for the kids present, and the dry stone wall round the perimeter. Stephen was just about to turn over another page when Ryan said: "Who's that sitting on the wall?"

"Dunno." 

"Looks like Cutter."

"You're joking … Just a minute." Stephen grabbed his laptop and fired it up. Cara had also put all the photos onto a CD-ROM, so he shoved that into the drive and began scrolling through the photos. When he found the one he wanted, he zoomed in. The photo was pixilated, but the figure was unmistakable. "Fuck him! He knew I didn't want him there and he still turned up. He's got a fucking nerve!"

"Hey, come on …" Ryan stroked his arm gently. "He's trying to deal with what happened the best way he can. You both need closure, and this was his way of trying to achieve it. He made sure we didn't see him. He's out of your life now, Stephen. Forget about him."

~*~*~*

"This is it," said Ryan, who'd spotted the sign.

Stephen indicated left and turned the car into a small car park. The building was a low, whitewashed one set back slightly from the road. There was a school opposite and a handful of shops.

The big, shaven-headed guy who met them at the reception desk had ex-SAS tattooed all over him.

"Ryan. Good to see you." His accent was gruff Bristol.

"Jed. How you doing?"

"I'm good, mate. Got my visa and everything sorted, so it's ready to roll."

"Good. This is Stephen Hart, my partner."

Jed looked him up and down and stuck his hand out. "Nice to meet you, son. Business partner?"

"And you. Life partner as well," said Stephen coolly. 

Jed stared at Ryan, lips twitching.

"Make any comment and I'll smack your teeth down your throat," said Ryan conversationally.

"I'm not saying a thing …"

"Makes a fucking change."

"So they invaliding you out?"

"Probably. I've had enough in any case."

"Don't blame you. Best decision I ever made was getting out in one piece. Right, you want to see around?"

"Yep."

Stephen followed the pair through into what seemed to be the main room. There were several dozen people in there using the equipment – the usual range of treadmills, bikes, rowers, steppers and cross-trainers. A large TV in one corner was tuned to Sky Sport. The place was neat, clean and the kit looked new. Stephen could hear Ryan asking about membership numbers and what sort of training the staff had.

They went through another door and into a relaxation area. At one end were sofas and low tables and at the other a juice bar that also offered light snacks. Jed stopped to exchange a few words with the woman behind the bar, then pushed open the door to the men's changing rooms. It was light, airy and boasted showers along one wall.

"The women's is next door and exactly the same. Jane says it's empty if you want a quick look."

Ryan nodded and Stephen followed him in. As Jed had said it was identical, aside from being painted a relaxing pale pink rather than plain white.

"Sauna through here," said Jed. Several men looked up as they came in. "Splash pool's through that door. Right, gym next."

This one was an old-fashioned gym, with a boxing ring at one end, and half a dozen blokes with cropped hair doing circuit training. There were asymmetric bars, parallel bars, rings and a pommel horse at the other end.

"Local gym club uses it a couple of nights a week," said Jed. "Got some good kids coming through as well. They paid for the kit and I charge 'em a peppercorn rent. You might want to have a chat to their chairman about the arrangement."

"You were happy with it?"

"Yep. No problems. And good publicity as well. Every time they get mentioned in the papers, they always say where they train."

"What about the boxing?"

"One of the lads who works here is a qualified trainer. He does some sparring, and we let a couple of the local clubs meet here. Again, good income and good publicity. Right, you've seen the lot. Come and have a drink and you can fire some questions at me."

Jed's office was tucked away behind the front desk. He stuck the kettle on, broke open a packet of biscuits and said: "Right, what else do you want to know?"

Stephen sat back and let Ryan run through a list of questions, most of which he knew had come from the solicitor. Ryan pored over the accounts and the membership list, made some notes and said: "OK, that about covers it. Stephen, anything you want to know?"

"I assume the staff know you're going?"

"Yep. Told 'em a fortnight ago. You'll want to talk to those who'd like to stay on, which is most of 'em. Good bunch."

"And we'd better take the details for the gym and boxing people."

Jed nodded, fired up the laptop on the desk and printed some names and numbers out. "Give 'em a ring. I told 'em you'd likely be in touch at some stage. Anything else?"

"Nope, don't think so. We'll give you a buzz when we've had a talk about it and run the figures past the solicitor. And we'll come down again and talk to your staff."

"Fine. So what happened to you?"

"Secret ops job went seriously tits up. Three didn't make it. I was the lucky one."

"Fuck."

"Yeah."

"So what do you do, Stephen?"

"Used to work in a university."

"How long you been, you know …"

"Hitched? Since September," said Ryan.

"Get any shit from the lads?"

"Here and there. But not from my unit who are fucking A1. They're good lads …"

Jed nodded, and topped their mugs up with the strong coffee. "I saw Scottie the other day, and he's leaving in a month. And Max has joined the police."

"Not surprised. Hear anything of Gerry Turner?"

"Nope. Last I heard he was up in court for GBH. Bottled some punter outside a bar."

"No change there, then."

~*~*~*

They left late afternoon after another wander round the club and a pile of sandwiches in Jed's office.

"You want to go somewhere in the city for dinner?" asked Stephen.

"Not this time. Let's crack on home and get a takeaway."

Stephen nodded and started the engine. He suspected it was a mix of Ryan being exhausted and also not feeling up to people staring at him in public.

They were back on the M4 and approaching the Severn Crossing when Ryan broke the silence. "What did you reckon?"

"Nice set-up."

"Yep. I'll make a few phone calls in the morning, but I like the look of it."

"Yeah. Seems busy. And the gym club and boxing's a good plan."

"Yeah. I want to talk to the staff, though, before we do anything."

"Good idea."

"Stephen, now you've seen it, are you sure …?"

"Yes. Totally."

Ryan smiled and touched his hand. 

"You look knackered. Have a sleep and I'll wake you up just in time for your chicken biryani!"

"You only want me to go to sleep so you can play your miserable female singers shit …"

"And your point is …?"

~*~*~*

Stephen read Abby's email and opened up MSM immediately to see if she was online. Her screen name, Reptilegirl, always made him smile. He was Leedsactionman. 

Abby pinged him almost immediately. "u ok?"

"fine. u?"

"so-so."

"tell me."

"cutter cracking up. i want 2 kill lester. connor as much use as chocolate teapot. u have 2 come back."

"can't. don't want 2 anyway. u shd get out while u can." 

"can't. can't leave connor and he won't leave cutter."

"r u at home?"

"yes."

"i'll fone u."

She picked up the receiver almost immediately. "Stephen?"

"Abby, what the hell's going on? You’ve got to get out of there."

"I can't …"

"Why not?"

"Because Connor won't bail out and I can't leave him. He thinks he has to protect Cutter now …"

"Now I've gone?"

"Yes. Stephen, this is just crazy. Cutter's desperate to make it up with you. He asks me every few days if I've heard from you."

"Abby, I can't. I've got to move on. And Nick needs to move on as well."

"He knows you hate him, and that he shouldn't have left Captain Ryan for dead."

"I don't hate him." The words surprised even him, and he paused to gather his thoughts. "I don't hate him. I feel sorry for him. But I don't trust him any more, and once that trust has gone, there's no way he and I could work together any more."

"But couldn't you stay on the project, kind of like you are now?"

"No. This is just a stop-gap. The project needs people there every day. And Tom needs me more."

"Is he OK?"

"Yeah, he's doing well. He can walk without sticks now for short distances. And they're doing the first of the plastic surgery ops in a few weeks."

"That's brilliant. Do you know yet what you're both going to do?"

"Buy a fitness centre in Bristol. We went down to see it yesterday, and it looks a really good set-up."

"Stephen, I'm pleased it's all working out, but that's such a waste …"

"Abby, stop it! It's what I want to do. I want a clean break and the chance to build a new life with Tom. Why can't you understand that?"

"I do …" Her voice was soft. "But I miss you so bloody much."

"I miss you and Connor loads. But I've got to start again."

~*~*~*

Getting back behind the wheel of a car felt weird, but the doctor had said there was no reason why he couldn't drive if he felt up to it. Ryan had taken Stephen to the station – he was due to meet Lester at noon – then took a detour on the way home. He was always amused by the way sex shops ended up in the most unlikely parts of town.

The kid behind the counter looked about 12. He was eating an apple and reading a mechanical engineering textbook. Presumably the job supplemented his student grant.

"All right, mate?" He was obviously doing his best not to stare too hard at Ryan's patchwork face.

"Yeah, fine."

"Good. Shout if you want any help." He lobbed the apple core accurately into a bin and went back to his book.

Ryan found what he wanted almost immediately. The lad wrapped the purchase without blinking, although he sneaked a look at Ryan's crotch.

Back home and Ryan had a nap for half an hour, then decided he was going to make a pasta sauce for the evening meal. He felt good, and even though he could hear the quack exhorting him not to overdo things, he was determined to keep pushing and testing his limits.

He heard Stephen's key in the front door just before 6pm and immediately turned the sauce on to warm through and switched the water on for the pasta.

"That smells good!" Gentle arms went around his waist and Stephen kissed the back of his neck.

"Be about 15 minutes."

"Just time for me to shower and change, then."

Ryan grinned and kissed Stephen on the lips. "Don't overdress …"

Stephen's eyebrows disappeared upwards. "Now you're talking …"

When Stephen reappeared 14 minutes later, Ryan was just draining the pasta. His legs and back were starting to ache badly, so he didn't argue when Stephen took the pan out of his hand and dished up the meal.

"So how was Lester?" Ryan passed Stephen the bowl of parmesan.

"Pissed off. Rude. Sarcastic."

"Condition normal, then."

"Yep. He had an almighty row with Cutter on the phone while I was there."

"What about?"

"This new research centre. Minute he put the phone down, he started the guilt trip on me to go back."

"Stephen, do it. It's what you're trained to do."

Stephen put his fork down and reached out for Ryan's hand. "Tom, I'm not going back, and that's final. I don't want to have anything else to do with it. I want us to make a go of the fitness centre, OK?"

Ryan nodded. "But you would say if …"

"Of course I would. But I don't. That part of my life is over. Now, you fancy some ice cream?"

"Yes please. Shall I …?"

"Nope. You stay put. And I want to know what you've got planned for later."

Ryan grinned and held out his hand for a bowl of coffee ice cream. "I did some shopping after I dropped you at the station."

"And …?"

"And you'll see in a bit."

~*~*~*

Stephen peeled off his teeshirt and jeans and bounced onto the bed. "So what's the big secret?"

Ryan ignored him, carefully taking his clothes off. Stephen knew he'd put some weight back on, but his scarred body was almost unrecognisable from how it had been before. And even the sight of Stephen naked and playing with himself made no impression on his resolutely limp prick.

Then Ryan joined him on the bed and they began to kiss, hands exploring each other's bodies. And Stephen was sure he felt the faintest of stirrings in Ryan's groin.

"Tom …"

"Ssh, turn over."

Stephen obeyed, stretching out on his stomach and moaning pleasurably as Ryan's strong fingers worked his shoulders and spine. And then that amazing tongue was probing his arse, followed by two large fingers.

"Oh god …" Stephen wriggled, trying to pull the fingers further inside him.

"Get up on your hands and knees."

Stephen obeyed blindly, shivering as the insistent tongue returned to its ministrations. Then Ryan pulled away again and Stephen looked over his shoulder to see what was happening. A hard slap across his arse made him squawk with shock.

"Keep your eyes to the front …'

He knew he was swaying backwards and forwards, wiggling his arse and hoping fervently that Ryan would soon be back where he belonged inside him. But he knew immediately that whatever was pushing at his hole wasn't Ryan's prick.

"What …?"

"Ssh …"

And Stephen cried out in shock as something large and hard pushed into him, opening him beyond what felt comfortable and stretching him to accommodate the intrusive bulk. "Oh fuck, what's that?"

A chuckle near to his left ear. "Ten by eight inches of prime porn star cock."

"Oh shit, no, it hurts!" And it was stretching and burning as it burrowed into him. Ryan was big, but this felt thicker and wider.

"Yeah, but just think how good it'll feel in a minute when you're stuffed full …" Ryan wriggled the dildo and Stephen moaned as it hit something sensitive. "Like now?"

"Yes … Do that again!"

"That?" Ryan pulled the dildo out to the tip, then thrust it back in. He did that half a dozen times and only his arm around Stephen's waist stopped him pitching forward. Stephen couldn't stop himself whimpering, telling Ryan that it hurt and it was going to split him open and oh fuck yes, like that, do it again and oh shit, it was too big and he wasn't going to sit down for the rest of the week and fuck yes, he was coming!

Stephen fell forward, trying to get his breath back. The dildo was still deep in his arse, and Ryan was tracing his fingers down his spine and flicking the protruding lump of silicone.

"OK?" Ryan eased the dildo out, but it still made Stephen gasp as it dragged at his tender insides. And he wriggled as Ryan's fingers played with his stretched opening.

"Yeah … Good. Not as good as you …"

"But as good as we'll get in the circumstances."

"Did you …?"

"Nope. Now go and run a bath and I'll come and scrub your back."

~*~*~*

Ryan was looking for a magazine with a feature on the SAS in that he'd shoved onto a shelf. Instead he found a scientific journal tucked amongst the various magazines. It was dated that autumn, and featured a familiar name on the front. He flicked through and found a co-written article by Cutter and Stephen.

"What you looking for?" Stephen wandered in with a mug of tea in each hand.

"That Sunday Times magazine with the SAS feature in."

"It's on the shelf below, under those folders."

"When did this journal come out?"

"Cutter sent it last week," said Stephen shortly.

"Congratulations."

"Ta. D'you want a biscuit?"

"No thanks. Did Cutter say anything else?"

"Dunno. I chucked the letter away unread. And I've deleted all the emails he's sent me without opening them."

"How many?"

"A couple of dozen or so."

"Stephen, you can't let this fester. Talk to him."

"No. I've got nothing to say to him, and I don't want to hear his whining self-pity. He's no longer part of my life."

~*~*~*

"You're well out of all the shit, mate." Lyle pushed a fresh pint across the table to Ryan. It was his first outing to the pub since he'd come out of hospital, and he knew he was going to be the sideshow to that night's pub quiz.

"Yeah?"

"Yep. Whole thing's total fucking shambles. Cutter's away with the fairies, and those two kids are trying to keep the whole thing going between them, poor little shits. It needs Stephen back."

"Ain't going to happen," said Ryan briefly.

"You sure?"

"Yep. He won't respond to Cutter's emails and letters, and says he won't have anything else to do with them. He's fixated on getting this fitness centre running properly."

"You sorted all the paperwork out on that?"

"More or less. Looks like we'll take it over at Easter, which is when Jed's emigrating. It’ll be nine months, and by then the quacks are going to be making a decision one way or the other."

"What happens if you're OK …"

"I won't be. Face it, Jon, I'm not coming back. They're going to be operating on me for the next year at least."

Lyle grimaced and drank half of his pint. "It'll be shit without you, mate."

"Bollocks. You'll manage."

"Yeah, maybe. But a few of us will be planning our escape."

"Crap. You're there for life. They've got your promotions all mapped out."

"Not now. If I'd married a pretty girl, maybe …"

"They won't care."

"They will once I get past captain and major. And I don't intend to hang around long enough to find out."

"What would you do?"

"Security, probably. James has got good contacts."

"Do it, then."

"Yeah, we'll see."

~*~*~*

"You're OK about going to Gran's for Christmas?"

"You bet!"

"With a bit of luck my mother won't be there. She'll have buggered off to Spain with her golfing chums."

"Good." Stephen had been shocked at Ryan's mother's lack of interest in her injured son. She hadn't been to visit him in hospital at all, and had made one vague phone call to him when she was half-cut, a week or so after he'd been discharged. When Stephen had commented on this, Ryan had said shortly that it suited him fine.

They travelled down on the 23rd, the car jam-packed with food and presents. And Stephen just knew that most of the latter would be for him. He couldn't wait to see Ryan's face when he opened the presents Stephen had bought him, though.

Gran's house looked like something from a fairytale, with a holly wreath on the door, decorations everywhere, and a huge Christmas tree that touched the ceiling. A box of decorations stood next to it. Gran saw him looking at them and linked her arm in his. 

"We always decorate the tree when everyone's here. Trudy, Ed and the kids will be here in about an hour, so we'll have dinner first and then do the tree before the children go to bed."

"It sounds wonderful." 

She must have picked up the wistful note in his voice, because she said gently: "You never did anything like this at home?"

"No. My parents weren't really bothered about Christmas. One year we had salad and bread and butter for Christmas lunch."

She hugged him. "Then we'll have to make sure this is a special one for you, darling."

~*~*~*

Ryan sat on the sofa, can of beer to hand, and patiently threaded the hooks onto the tree ornaments. Stephen and the two kids were noisily engaged in hanging them onto the tree. For the first time in months Stephen looked happy and relaxed.

Trudy perched on the arm of the sofa and ruffled his hair. "Didn't realise we were going to have three kids staying for Christmas!"

"The whole thing's a novelty for Stephen."

"Gran said his family are a bit odd."

"That's an understatement."

"Does he have anything to do with them?"

"Nope. They moved to New Zealand when he was 16 and left him here. He didn't see them again until a couple of months ago when they turned up on our doorstep."

"Shit!"

"Yep."

"They hadn't kept in contact?"

"Occasional Christmas and birthday cards, but not every year."

"They sound terrible."

"They are. But he's shot of them now."

"And Gran's officially adopted him."

Ryan nodded, twirling a tiny Father Christmas between his fingers. It had been his favourite ornament when he was a kid – and it had been Gran's when she was a child.

"He's lovely, Tee. I'm glad you found him."

"Yeah. He's put up with a lot."

"Because he loves you," said Trudy gently. "You can see it in his eyes when he looks at you."

Ryan shrugged and handed Sophie the final ornament. She passed it to Joshua, who hung it on a low branch.

"Are we going to put the star on the top now, Uncle Stephen?" asked Sophie, clambering onto Ryan's lap. She seemed not at all bothered by Ryan's scarred face. Joshua, who was five, four years younger than his sister, was obviously freaked out by it. His mother had explained that Uncle Tee had been hurt but that he was getting better.

"It looks like a monster tried to eat you, Uncle Tee," said Joshua seriously.

"Oh, I don't taste nice enough. Too chewy. Now, are you going to let Stephen lift you up so you can put the star on the top of the tree?'

~*~*~*

Stephen looked around him and thought how it looked like a scene from a picture postcard. It had stopped snowing, but there was still several centimetres of it on the ground and on rooftops. He couldn't remember the last time he'd been to church. He had no religious faith at all and felt faintly hypocritical going to Midnight Mass, but it was obviously a tradition in the Ryan household. Stephen knew Tom wasn't a believer either, but that he was going because that's what the family had always done.

Ryan squeezed his arm. "Stop worrying. It'll be fine."

"I don't like going to church."

"Neither do I. But the kids think it's a big adventure, and Gran enjoys it."

"Does she believe …?"

"I doubt it. But all her friends go. It's the village social scene."

Stephen soon saw what he meant and in spite of himself he enjoyed hearing the carols being sung. The kids were wide-eyed with wonder at all the candles and even managed to stay awake during the vicar's worthy but dull sermon. Sophie clambered onto her dad's lap, and Stephen was surprised when Joshua climbed onto his, sucking his thumb and staring around.

When the service finished Stephen hoisted Joshua up on his shoulders. He knew they were being stared at, but couldn't decide whether that was because people knew about him and Tom, or whether it was simply because they were visitors.

Gran linked her arm in his. "No one will say anything, darling. Most of them know about you and Tom, but whatever they think they have the good manners to keep their views to themselves."

"Good."

The vicar was at the door, shaking hands with everyone. He smiled at Stephen. "I don't believe we've met before."

"This is my grandson, Stephen," said Gran.

"Yes, I'm Tom's partner," said Stephen firmly, staring straight at the guy, who was a 50-something sort with a gratingly cheerful manner.

"Ah, yes, of course … And how is Tom?"

"I'm fine, thanks, Derek," said Ryan, materialising at Stephen's side, Sophie's hand in his. "How's Richard doing?"

"Oh, very well, very well indeed! He's been promoted and is moving to New York in January. Yes, he's done excellently …"

Ryan offered a smile like a basking shark. "Good. I assume Neil's going with him?"

"Oh yes, of course! Being a writer means you can work from almost anywhere . . ."

"Do tell him I was asking after him. And send my love to Jane. Now, time to get these little 'uns into bed before Father Christmas comes …"

"So who's the mysterious Richard?" asked Stephen, slipping into the driver's seat and starting the car.

"Derek's black sheep brother. I was at school with him and he's the only sane one in the whole family."

"And gay, I assume."

"Yep. And he's a great embarrassment to Daddy, who used to be Bishop of somewhere or other. Mummy's always been away with the fairies and likes the cooking sherry a touch too much. Derek's a wanker, but a harmless one. His wife, Jane, is actually very nice. She's a vicar as well, but her head's screwed on the right way. Someone told me that they made a pact when they got married that they'd take it in turns to choose parishes. She chose first and they ended up on a dog-rough council estate in the Black Country somewhere. He chose next and they spent five years in Oxford while he was chaplain to one of the colleges. Then when it was Jane's turn they went to some dodgy bit of Liverpool. Derek selected this one, they've been here ten years and it looks like he's done the moral blackmail on her to stay here. I mean, just think what a challenge it is spreading the gospel to the heathens of rural Wiltshire …"

"Fuckwit."

"Yep. I don't think Derek could even spell social conscience. Now. I'd better warn you that we shall be woken up at 6am in the morning by the sprogs stampeding around and opening their stockings."

~*~*~*

Stephen opened his eyes as two small tornados bounced onto the bed, fortunately missing a crash-landing on Ryan's legs. The clock by the bed said 5.58am – Tom's estimate hadn't been far out.

"Uncle Stephen, Uncle Tee, are you going to watch us open our stockings?"

"Um, yes …" Stephen sat up, pulling the duvet fully over him and Ryan. The kids seemed most unfazed by the sight of two men in bed together.

Ed was in the doorway, carrying two bulging stockings. "Sorry about this, lads, but they've got a faster turn of speed than Usain Bolt. You don't mind …?"

"Of course not." Stephen tried not to look surprised as Sophie snuggled up against him and looked expectantly at her father.

"Chuck the stuff off that chair so Gran can come and watch," said Ryan.

Gran smiled at them and settled herself in the chair, pulling a pretty silk dressing gown around her. Trudy followed her in, carrying a tray piled high with mugs of tea and a teetering pile of toast.

"Don't worry, you'll get a proper breakfast later. This is just to keep you going," said Ryan, passing Stephen a slice of toast. And Stephen's groin twitched when Ryan licked the butter off his fingers.

Sophie took a bite out of Stephen's toast then rapidly lost interest as she and her brother disappeared under presents and wrapping paper. Half an hour later, when every last item had been unwrapped and shrieked over, the kids gathered their haul up and scuttled through into the living room where Gran had lit the fire.

Stephen was wondering if he could go back to sleep for an hour, but the adults seemed to have made themselves comfortable and were chatting about the itinerary for the day. Apparently proper breakfast was at 8.30am, the Christmas dinner at 1pm, followed by opening presents, and then a walk in the woods, with tea about 6pm. Gran said with a smile that they usually played board games in the evening, but that Tom was an appalling loser.

"Am not!" Ryan did his best to look affronted.

There was a gale of laughter and they all began to regale Stephen with stories about Scrabble boards suddenly ending up on the floor, or threatened irate letters to the makers of Trivial Pursuits for alleged wrong answers.

"I'll be score keeper, then," said Ryan. "Or wine waiter."

"We don't have to do the walk this year if you don't want to, Tee," said Ed. He was a hearty airline pilot with not a lot of small talk, and even less tact.

"I'll be fine," said Ryan shortly, and Stephen knew damn well he'd do it, even if it killed him. 

"So what's happening with this fitness centre, then?" asked Trudy, obviously wanting to avoid a touchy subject.

"All the paperwork's going through at the moment. The idea is for us to take it over sometime after Easter, which is when Jed's emigrating."

"What's it like?"

"Tidy place, by the look of it. He's kept it in very good nick, the membership list is healthy, and he's got some other initiatives going there."

"Can you transfer to one of the universities in the area, Stephen?"

"I haven't tried. I'm going to run the fitness centre with Tom. It'll take two of us, what with all the activities. And we're both going to qualify as fitness instructors."

Ed seemed about to pass a comment, but a look from Trudy stopped him. "Good. It sounds like it's going to be a really great opportunity for you both. I know Tee's talked about it for years."

"Yeah, we're excited about it," said Ryan, signalling an end to the conversation.

~*~*~*

Stephen flopped onto the sofa and moaned quietly. Ryan ruffled his hair on the way past, and eased himself down next to him. "Serves you right for being a piglet," he said unsympathetically. "I thought the kids had hollow legs, but you're worse. I can't believe you had two helpings of the main course, then scoffed Christmas pud and trifle and two mince pies."

"I was hungry," said Stephen. "The fact I shan't eat again for a week is neither here nor there . . ."

"Yeah, right …" Ryan was pretty sure he knew why Stephen, who usually had a healthy appetite but ate sensibly, had gone mad. He suspected it was the first time in years that he'd had a proper Christmas dinner. He'd volunteered to Ryan as they were peeling potatoes earlier that the past two or three years he'd gone round to Nick's on Christmas Day, and they'd eaten pasta because it was about all Nick could cook. Before that, he'd spent Christmas alone. So seeing Stephen's childlike enjoyment of a family Christmas was oddly touching.

Ed set the tea tray down on the table and passed the mugs around, as Trudy supervised the handing-out of the presents. The kids opened theirs first, and Uncle Stephen won brownie points both for buying them the latest games that they'd wanted, and for assembling kits and inserting the batteries the right way. Ryan was pleased he'd checked in advance with Trudy as to what they could both buy the sprogs.

"Stephen, why don't you open yours next," said Gran, passing him the first present. And Ryan watched, amused, as Stephen's eyes widened at the number of presents for him. He knew he'd gone a bit mad again and spent a lot on Stephen, but he really didn't care – being alive and being able to spend that money on the person he loved was the key thing.

"Thank you, everyone, these are brilliant!" Stephen looked at the pile of presents at his feet, including new trainers, a leather jacket, designer shirts and teeshirts, a dinky digital cine camera and a load of books, DVDs and CDs.

"You next, Tom," said Gran.

He laughed at the leather jacket Stephen had bought him, agreeing that great minds really did think alike, and made the appropriate noises at the books and CDs and gadgets that the family had bought him.

"Don't forget this," said Stephen, handing him an A4 envelope.

Ryan slit it open and pulled out a glossy brochure for one of those activity holiday firms. And marking the page for a fortnight in Central Asia, sleeping in a Yurt and exploring on horseback, were two airline tickets to Tashkent and confirmation of the holiday booking.

"It's our belated honeymoon," said Stephen quietly.

And then they were in each other's arms, hugging and laughing, as if they were the only people in the world.


End file.
